To Fall, To Live
by twilight darling
Summary: DHr PostHBP. It is only when you lose everything that you can start living. Draco has nothing but hatred and Hermione stands oddly in between of it all. A story of redemption and understanding. To find purpose in being lost.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Harry Potter series.

Author Notes: It is just something that was in my head. I am thinking of continuing this story into a D/Hr post-HBP fic.

Summary: Draco Malfoy was given a second to chance to redeem himself. He was sent to find something for the Dark Lord. When Hermione unwittingly stumbled upon Snape and Malfoy, she was hauled into a mess that defied all expectations of right and wrong and light and dark. She must learn to cope without the comfort of Hogwarts and solid facts. A story of redemption and understanding. Eventually, D/Hr.

Just a short FYI, I took the liberty for Harry and Ron to visit Hermione's parents. It is rather insignificant. I just wanted a setting and I thought it would be fitting since I always wanted to develop Hermione's character.

* * *

**A Moment Afterwards**

Slightly alarmed at the unlocked door of her house, Hermione peeked from the doorway and saw her best friend standing at the edge of the sidewalk like he was at a precipice with ominous water howling for his soul. "Harry?" she said softly as she step down the small pathway toward the sidewalk of her house.

Harry seemed out of place, a boy caught in a tangle of death and rage standing alone the quiet morning of a suburban town. His back seemed to be emitting waves of turmoil and most prominently, grief. She read Harry's back like a book, deciphering the tense stance. If she was observant enough, she could see the tired slump of the shoulders and the gradual bent of responsibility across the spine. Hermione traced wrinkles of his nightshirt and the way it hang on his gangly form with her staid eyes. Simple quiet observations have taught her many things, maybe too much.

She padded down the walkway with sensible warm navy slippers and a head filled with thoughts. Her head barely reached Harry's shoulders as she stood next to him, staring at the same silent street. She molded her hands around her mug of hot chocolate and savored the warmth. As she brushed an unruly curl from her face, she cocked her head inquisitively at her brooding friend and nudged him with her shoulder.

Harry whipped his head toward the disturbance like a startled owl. He exhaled loudly in relief. "Hermione," the corner of his lips twitched, "Why are you up so early?"

"How 'bout you?" She swept stray strands of hair from her face with an exasperated sigh and warmed her lips against the mug. She swung on the balls of her feet and requested softly, "Wanna sit down?" Hermione jerked her head toward the bench on the porch.

"Sure." He gave her his quirky smile.

They sat together in silence. The day was barely beginning. The sky was still dark with a seeping stain of pinkish orange. The air was cool and the mild fog had not yet been lifted. It was a soft silence. One of those gentle moments of peace and stillness that can almost break a person's heart with its fragile beauty.

Hermione traced the white stars painted on her mug and let her fingertip dragged across the ceramic. She was silent with her thoughts, attempting to winnow her thoughts from fluttering distractions. She pondered a bit longer on the friendship between her and Harry and everything from the malnutrition squirrel that just crossed the street to the vivid image of Hogwarts. She came out with the determination to say something and took in the chilling morning air.

She bit her bottom lips and watched the hot chocolate swirls and spins. "I am glad I met you, Harry Potter," she said softly as she drummed her fingers on the half-finished mug of hot chocolate.

Harry chuckled. "And I am glad I met you, Hermione Granger." They still did not turn to look at each other, mesmerized by the beginning of the rising sun. Morning was arriving, soft and delicate.

"I would have been so different if I haven't met you and Ron—if I wasn't a witch."

Her candid statement caught him off guard. He did not remember a time when one of his best friend ventured into something more personal that the score of her latest potion essay. He turned his eyes toward petite girl with wild hair but she kept on searching the sky for something that he did not know about. Harry responded thoughtfully, "Yeah, I guess so. I guess I would've been different too if… but I don't think I regret it."

"Oh no!" Hermione yelped in surprise, "I don't regret being witch and getting the owl about Hogwarts. I am just saying you guys changed me."

Harry scrunched his face into a questioning frown.

Another moment silence, this one was stifling and scratchy. Hermione fiddled with the hem of her long-sleeved nightshirt then she drew her knees toward her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She wished the ground would just swallow her now. She was no longer sure that Harry could understand the importance of her words. But, she supposed, that it was her fault for skittering around and making extremely vague and ambiguous statements. She played with the rebellious curl that framed her face, twisting the curl around her index finger and tucking it behind her ear, and then repeated the process again.

"I was always alone, Harry," she began tentatively opening a buried box of unwanted memories. "Always different. I was the smallest one in my school. I was always quiet. My mom told me that even as a toddle I liked playing by myself. I rarely played with other children despite how many play dates she set up for me. Things just got worst in primary school. They _want_ you to play together, asking questions about best friends and favorite sport." She recalled sulkily.

"Hermione, it is just part of growing up. Of course, teachers and parents wanted you to play with kids," Harry chuckled.

She clasped her hands together in determination and plowed on. "I had friends. Few. But I guess I was just different. When we moved, my parents set up their dentistry here, things got even worst. Kids already got their cliques. So I turned to books. I find it so fascinating that there are so many things to learn about. I always thought that if I know more than I can carry on a conversation with anyone." Honey brown eyes sparkled at the imagination of the breath of knowledge available in the world and vestige of childhood excitement danced on the curve of her soft wistful smile.

"Mum always said that I got my head in the clouds. So when the letter arrived, I was so excited. Confused and scared but excited. I thought to myself: a brand new start. A clean slate. So excited 'cause I was special, not just different. I was so scared that I wouldn't belong that I read books and books about general wizard history and Hogwarts. I guess that plan backfired, huh?"

He shifted uncomfortably. He never had such a conversation with Hermione. He never knew of her life before Hogwarts. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "For making fun of you in the first year."

"Thanks Harry," Hermione gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "It wasn't just you. I felt different and it wasn't a special different anymore. I was in a whole new world, living in a fantasy world. But there was simply no happily ever after." She could feel her eyes burn as she remembered the gradual slip of childhood naivety. She laid her chin on top of her knees and kept on staring at the glow of red and orange.

"But, then, there were you and Ron. Life just did feel so lonely anymore. I know I am different. I know I am just the know-it-all-Hermione and I rather not change. I am just glad I got to see the other side, the not lonely side."

Harry was speechless. Words flew in his mind haphazardly in no coherent order like a dozen golden snitches. He never really thought about Hermione's past and her first year experiences. "I-I've never known," he stuttered and shook his shock of disorderly black hair sheepishly.

Hermione beamed at him and leaned her head on his shoulder. A friendly and comfortable gesture that reminded her how much she had learned about the bubbly warm feeling of friendship and the comfort of belonging. "I just want you to know, Harry. I was thinking… last night—"

"When are you not?" Harry teased.

"Hush," she swatted his arm playfully, "I was thinking about now and tomorrow and next week. I was thinking about how… it is not a fantasy world anymore. I was thinking about what you have to do and what I have to do."

"Hermione, you don't--"

"Let me finish, Harry." There is an edge of urgency in her tone. She placed her mug on the bench and turned her body toward him. "This is all very real. Death is very real." She could feel the burning clump in her throat. "I realized that I never really talked to you. Sure, I talk to you about homework, mischievous plans, school and S.P.E.W. and stuff like that. But I never really talked to you." Hermione clasped her hands around Harry's right hand. "I want you to know you changed my life. I will never… forget you. You are like… like… a brother to me." She could feel the hot tears rolling down her cheeks now. "And never forget that I love you, Harry."

Harry was alarmed by the sudden plethora of emotions that rushed over him. He felt claustrophobic by the sheer power of eloquence but he took a deep breath and stilled himself, trying to express his feelings in his not-so-articulate way. Harry ruffled his hair in contemplation to what to say and gingerly wiped her tears from her cheeks. Harry stared at Hermione watery eyes and placed his hand on top of her hands uncertainly.

"I love you, too, Hermione," Harry gave her a crooked smile, "Believe me, you changed me life too. I mean I don't think I could've passed Hogwarts without you. I mean I got a chance to be an Auror because of you."

She threw her arms around his neck and gave a great sob. Harry patted her back awkwardly.

"I am sorry for being so silly. I just want you to know. I just want you to know that there are people who love you. That's what makes you stronger than Voldemort." Hermione untangled herself from Harry's arm and furiously wiped away her tear. She fussed over her damp cheeks nervously.

Harry smiled sadly. "You just kind of reminded me of Dumbledore just then. He always said that Voldemort underestimates the power of love. I never put much thought into that."

She flushed at being compared to Dumbledore and straightened her overlarge sweatshirt uneasily. She began thoughtfully in a way that made Harry's heart swell with so much pride that it could have burst. "You and Voldemort are not all that different. Both orphans. Both had a rather awful childhood. Both incredibly powerful. The difference is your parents and his parents. I guess you knew you were loved at one point or another but Tom Riddle never did experienced such thing."

"I guess."

"Or you aunt and uncle did _something_ right in the way they took care of you even though I cannot fathom what would _that_ be."

Harry snorted.

"Hey, why are you guys up so early?" piped a sleepy Ron from the opened doorway. His red hair was in disarray and he was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Hermione removed any traces of tears, stood up and grabbed her empty mug. "Nothing," she answered nonchalantly, "Just talking to Harry."

"You mean boring his ear off," Ron replied impishly and received a sounded smack on the back of his head. "Ow, that hurts, Hermione!"

Hermione looked fondly at Ron and gave his a peck on the cheek. "It is suppose to, sleepy head." She sashayed inside the house and disappeared from view.

Ron blushed beetroot. "What's the matter with her?"

Harry looked at his best friend bemusedly. "Just being Hermione," he said as he clapped jovially on Ron's back and followed Hermione inside the house.

"Blimey, how can anyone be so cheerful in the morning?" Ron grumbled and followed his two friends into the house.

* * *

The rickety candle-filled lamp that hung from the ceiling dimly lighted the small sitting room. The room had a musky smell of abandonment despite the two people bickering the room.

"I don't need your help," a voice tried to sneered but only ended in painful gasps.

"On the contrary, I think you do, Draco," an older voice sneered smoothly. "I don't think those broken ribs will heal themselves and that's a nasty little gash across your back."

"Your fault," Draco Malfoy wheezed in agony, clenching his mid-section. "I could've done it. I would've!"

"Yes, in a century or two. The Dark Lord has no time for dalliance."

"You stole my glory. He told _me _to do it. Not you," he roared angrily and doubled over in pain.

"Don't be a child," Snape snarled. "You gave up fairness the moment you decided to have the Dark Mark etched in you skin. You gave up your innocence the moment you bowed in front of the Dark Lord. Don't give me petty arguments about glory and honor. There are no such thing, child."

Malfoy tried to lunge at him; instead, he coughed spatters of blood onto the sot-covered floor. "I'm not a child."

"Then do not act like one. That would only get you kill." Snape swooped forward and waved his wand in complicated motion toward Malfoy's ribs. Malfoy winced in pain. When Snape was done with the incantations at the ribs and shoved a pint of slimy potion down the brat's throat, he moved to Malfoy's back.

Malfoy jerked Snape's wand away from his back where a long deep gash resided. "Let it healed by itself."

"Don't be stupid," Snape snapped, "That would take days and it would leave a scar. Worst, it can get infected."

"I want it there. It will be a reminder," Malfoy said solemnly. "I will always remember." Suddenly, his whole expression hardened into a countenance of deep abhorrence and determination. His gripped the threadbare sofa and pain etched into sharpness of his salient features.

Snape looked at the boy in front of him. He sat erectly on the threadbare couch despite the recently healed ribs and recently cleaned gash on his back. His white-blond hair matted from dirt, tears, and sweats. Dark circles cast a deathly look in the stony gray eyes and the pointed face was pallid like the sickly moon. There was a cut at the corner of his eyebrow in a crescent shape that bordered his right eye.

In the last thirty seconds, Draco Malfoy turned into a man.

"Drink it," he suggested, "It disinfects." He paced the bottle on the table and walked out of the sitting room up one of the hidden passageway.

Malfoy stared at the gurgling plum potion on the table. He could drink the potion or he could run away from all of these. He wanted time to reversed itself to a time when he could hide beneath his satin sheets and he could pretend that everything was all right. He wanted his mother back to her usual grace despite the frosty distance. He wanted to eat breakfast at long, polished mahogany table with his father and mother. But it did not matter what he wanted; Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, had been reduced to nothing but a puddle of slob and he hated it.

The image of his mother sprawled across the dirt ground without her usual grace and glamour flashed before his eyes. He remembered how warm the blood was when it soaked through his Hogwarts uniform. Her eyes fluttered and she struggled to lift her hand up and placed it on his cheek, leaving a mark of grime and blood. She gave him a weak smile before fading into darkness. He remembered his anger and rage but he remembered the fear that gripped his chest most clearly. He could feel the tears waiting to burst forth and he bit his lips until it bled.

He could hear _him_ calling for him. His slithering voice glided through his spine with deliberate malice. But Draco could not hear anything. His eardrums were filled with the sounds of his pounding blood. "Draco Malfoy, you will answer me when I speak to you." A sharp pain sliced through his side.

"Yes," he choked out, "My lord." The pain lingered and gnawed at his flesh.

"Good, Draco."

He hated the way he say his name. He felt filthy under the Dark Lord's naked gaze. He was nothing but his toy and he feared him and he hated it. He hated every fiber in his body. He hated his every weakness, every pain, every thought.

The Dark Lord continued, tapping the tips of his long pale fingers against the stone. "You failed your task, Draco." His name ended in a hiss. Draco clenched his fist and kept his mind blank, awaiting his predicted punishment.

He remembered the way Snape stepped forward out of his peripheral vision. Anger threatened to override the fear. He took his chance. He took his escape. Draco could have reigned powerfully in the Inner Circle but Snape snatched from his hands after all of his hard work. He seethed with resentful anger.

"Speak, Severus."

"Without the boy, this operation would have been disastrous. Potter had lost his support and the Order suffered casualties. They are divided and uncertain without the old coon. Draco did well. More trainings are what he needs." Snape addressed the Dark Lord.

"Yes. The boy did get much farther than I thought he ever would."

Draco thought bitterly, he wanted me to die.

Fenrir Greyback rushed forward indignantly. "The boy is a bloody coward." He bared his razor-sharp teeth. "Look, his hands are shaking so bad. Give him to me, my lord. I am hungry tonight." Draco recoiled away from the formidable werewolf and stumbled over his mother's stilled body.

Dark Lord turned his eyes toward the werewolf; Greyback suddenly balked away and stumbled back into the semicircle. "Do not ask for too much, Fenrir."

"Yes, my lord," he clenched grimy hands.

"Draco." He could red eyes probing his mind. "The task was completed but you fell short, my boy."

Draco wanted to retch at endearment. "I understand, my lord." He waited. Everything was excruciating slow. He could every drop of water hitting the stone ground like a ticking clock.

"I have another task."

He head snapped up and emitted a painful grunt from the sudden movement. He hated how he could feel the thousands needles impaling his side. A dozens thoughts fluttered in his mind, almost suffocating him. He bowed his submission again and hid his face. "My mother, my lord?"

"She will be taken care of," the Dark Lord said flippantly. His long nails clicked a rhythmic tempo. "I need you to find get something for me and bring it back, Draco." With a wave of his hand, the semicircle dissipated and left behind Snape and his mother in front of the Dark Lord.

He glanced around suspiciously but the persistent tapping of devilish fingernails drew his attention back to the front.

"You will not fail me, Draco. Your mother will certainly want to see you succeed." The red eyes glinted. "Someone had misplaced this… item that I want and you will find it and bring it back to me, Draco," he reiterated.

Suddenly, Draco realized the importance of success in this mission. This was his last chance. It was the last chance for the continuation of Malfoys. "I understand. What is it that you wished, my lord?" Each word was consciously thought through and enunciated.

"A gauntlet." The snake, Nagini, slithered discreetly next to the Dark Lord; its emerald eyes glimmered behind the shroud of darkness. "A very special gauntlet."

Draco noticed a brief flash of surprise in Snape's eyes before it disappeared. "My lord?" Snape addressed the darkness with a blank expression.

"You will help him find it, Severus," the darkness hissed. "And if the wretch is not dead, bring her to me."

He could almost see the alarm and almost a flicker of fear from Snape. "Yes, my lord." Snape stepped back with a bow.

"My lord, I don't need _his _help," Draco protested, the anger shimmering beneath marble white skin.

Another flare of pain erupted across his back. "Draco, you will listen and you will obey." He could hear a hiss of agreement from the snake comfortably nestling in the darkness.

"Yes." He bowed his head and peered from behind his curtain of blond hair. He could almost block out the pain. The startling amount of pain was beginning to numb. He almost didn't care. Almost.

"Severus, take care of the boy since you seem so fond of him," the voice sneered.

With a curt nod, Snape yanked Draco painfully to his unsteady feet and was gone in a pop before he could protest. Narcissa wheezed, suddenly aware of the departure of her son and the brief brush of his lips against her forehead.

"Narcissa, your little boy is all grown up."

The dams are broken and tear flooded forward, drenching her ashen face.

* * *

Please, reviews would be very nice. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.

Author Notes: I have a very vague idea on where I want to go with this. But it is going or at least sputtering along.

Warning: post-HBP, therefore spoilers.

**

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**

**A Reunion, A Visit**

After the short stay at Hermione's house, they arrived to The Burrow in a puff of smoke from Floo network. Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace and stepped quickly away out of the way as the fireplace spat out Ron in a disgraceful splat with Harry tripping over him in a painful crash. They tumbled jokingly while entangling themselves and knocked several cookbooks over. The plump cook on the cover of _Enchantments In Baking_ squawked at the abuse.

"Ronald Weasley, stop roughhousing this instance!" Mrs. Weasley cried, "Gave me such a fright, I thought someone--" Her last words were muffled in Harry and Ron as she gave them a tight squeeze and tried to rubbed the bit of sot from Ron's freckled face.

"Mum," Ron whined and struggled out of Mrs. Weasley's embrace. The pink spot remains from his mother's insistent rubbing.

"Go clean up, dinner is almost ready," Mrs. Weasley made a shooing gesture with her hands and turned to Harry. "How was the trip, Harry?"

Harry smiled, "It was fine, Mrs. Weasley."

"Good, good," Mrs. Weasley mumbled and herded the boys upsides. "Hermione, good to see you, Ginny is waiting for you upstairs." Mrs. Weasley gave her a warm smile before turning back to her cooking.

Hermione replied politely, "Thank you."

A strange sense of awkwardness swept through her as she observed her surroundings. Nothing had changed since last summer. The Weasley's cramped kitchen had a homey and cozy feeling. The cookbooks were now placed back on the mantelpiece and the magic clock hung above it. The hand with Ron's name etched in just landed on "home". She tried to squash the feeling of loneliness with her logical mind. It simply didn't make sense to feel lonely. She was sick for feeling lonely. Sometimes, she wondered that maybe there was just something fundamentally wrong her. Hermione sighed. She always felt somewhat out of place surrounded by the boisterous Weasley family and Harry, who might as well, dye his hair red and draw freckles on his face. She took a deep breath and reminded herself silently that Harry needed her to be here and dragged her trunk up the unsteady stairs.

She was huffing halfway up the stairs when Ginny rushed down with her red locks shinning in the fading sunlight and her blue eyes filled with mirth. Hermione suppressed the twinge of envy at Ginny's newfound confidence, pretty face, and soft curves before greeting Ginny with a one-armed hug; her other arms protested adamantly against the weight of her trunk.

"Hermione!" Ginny gave her a warm hug and helped her with the heavy trunk. "Your parents let you come? I thought they would want to you to go with them."

She had almost forgotten the disagreement between her parents and her concerning their trip to the States and her stay at the Burrow amidst the rush of anxiety with an Aurors-guarded trip to the nearest Floo network. "Yea," she bit her lips momentarily, "I told them to enjoy the tour at America."

"Why didn't you go?" Ginny kicked a stack of books and magazines out of the way and shifted her trunk toward the corner of her room. "It would have been fun."

Hermione shrugged. "I thought you guys might need me." She flashed Ginny a soft grin.

"Always thinking of others," Ginny teased, "You are too good for Ron."

She blushed and rolled her eyes. "Nothing is even happening." She tugged at the sleeve of her shirt.

"Eventually," Ginny sighed, "Boys are just slow."

"Harry will come out his hero complex sooner or later." Hermione smiled sympathetically but the smile quickly disappeared at Ginny's hardened expression.

"I don't mind Harry being a hero, Hermione," Ginny replied sharply, "I just don't like the fact that he feels like he need to do everything alone."

She was taken back at Ginny's protective remark for Harry. "Of course," she said softly. The sudden awkwardness tugged at her heart again.

"Come on, let's go to dinner," Ginny mumbled. "Mum will be calling us soon. We are eating in the garden because the twins are coming over for dinner. Bill is still away with Fleur."

The cheerful atmosphere dissipated and aftertaste of something sour clung to the air. Hermione followed Ginny to the garden wondering whether coming to the Burrow was a mistake.

The argument with her parents left her uneasy. Her parents had worked hard to establish a tour that teaches children dental and nutritional care. It was relatively local but it picked up speed by the end of Hermione's first year and they had made several appearances at the nearby towns. Now, they expanded it to a national level. The schools were so impressed by the amount of support from the parents that they gained attentions in the States.

Her parents wanted her to come with them to the States. She knew how much they missed their daughter, the daughter that was normal, and the daughter that all their friends seemed to have, who went to the malls and worried about colleges. She remembered the teary goodbyes. Her parents were so astonished that she was so distressed at their departure that they almost offered to stay but she urged them to go and have fun. Her parents boarded the airplane happier after her assurance that she would be fine and silently, she hoped they would be too. Given the relatively small number of wizardry communities in the States, Hermione hoped that her parents would be safe from the impending chaos in Europe.

She smiled wistfully at the thought of her parents. They always have worked together. Sometimes she wondered did they love each other in the traditional romantic way or just a perfect partnership that leaked into their personal life. They were never overly affectionate with each other, maybe an occasional peck on the cheek. They complimented each other so well in their work that their marriage almost seemed cold. Hermione shooed those random thoughts away as she turned her attention to the piece of meatloaf that she was probing at for the last few minutes.

"Hermione," Ron nudged her elbow, "Don't think too hard. It's just meatloaf." The Weasleys and Harry roared with laughter.

She shoved lightly at Ron. "I was just thinking when you were going to learn some manner, Ronald," she said sweetly and took a bite out of her broccolis as Ron turned beet red and grin good naturally, showing the chewed up mixture of broccolis and meatloaf.

Hermione laughed but something still did not feel right.

She glared at the meatloaf; she needed to stop thinking.

* * *

A loud pop and a man appeared. He looked misplaced with his long black robes and long wooden stick surrounded by a microwave and a refrigerator. 

"Severus!" a woman yelped in surprised, spilling coffee on the table. "You always have to make an entrance don't you," she said scornfully.

Snape turned to look at the woman in an oversized sweatshirt and fuzzy navy slippers. She sat with her feet on her chair and her knees tucked under her chin. "I sent an owl."

"Yes." The woman wiped the coffee with a towel, barely sparing Snape a glance. "Imagine my surprise when I found a owl tapping against my window at four in the morning. The bloody thing nearly scratched out my eye." She looked directly at Snape and felt the excruciating hours spent in front of her laptop. As surprise as she was by the visit, she was too tired to play the Slytherin game of circling the opponent like an indecisive snake (right or left, to strike or not to strike) for several hours.

"What do you want, Severus?" Blunt and direct, god, she needed some aspirin. She looked at the cabinet behind Snape longingly.

"A favor."

The woman's eyebrow rose so high that it was almost obscured by her curtain of long black hair. She tossed her hair aside and gave Snape a hard glare. "Six years of silence and you come ask lil' ol' me for a favor." She gave a short deriding chuckle. "Severus. Severus. What have you been up too in the last six years? Old boss came knocking on your door." She sipped the reminder of her coffee.

"Ayla," he said softly.

"Don't call me that, Snape," she sneered. "Leave me alone and let me live my life." She stalked over to her sink, brushing pass him, and rinsed her coffee mug.

"Ayla, don't be stubborn--" He stopped and took a moment to cursed himself, before trying to apologize.

"You slipped, Severus. Never insult someone who can help you." her voice was much softer, he realized. More dangerous, he concluded. "Don't think so highly of yourself. I didn't leave just because of you. You can go served your almighty lord dressed in all spooky darkness. Do you understand that I made a choice and frankly, unlike you, I am happy with my choices! This is my life now. I am not Ayla anymore, Severus."

"Yes, I remember that clearly enough."

"Severus, stop it. Stop your bitterness," Ayla said exasperatedly, rubbing her temples. Hogwarts was too long ago; she was too tired to dig through her memories for the _Handbook for Conversing with a Slytherin_. She wondered fleetingly whether throwing her coffee mug at Snape would induce him to leave. She hesitated and stared at her sink before turning around. "So why did you come here? What's the favor?"

"I need to make sure he gets to _it_ safely." Snape handed her a small, moving picture. His fingers lingered for a moment on her hand and trying say something but shutting himself up beforehand.

He was always like that. Ayla shook the thought away and turned her attention to the picture with a startled countenance. "You are so sure that I remember 'it'." She smirked. "So sure I know about 'it'."

"If you didn't know about it, surely, you won't know what I am talking about."

"I suppose." She was still skittering around, refusing to commit herself to the request.

"I need your help," he stated, "Dumbledore is died." He kept his face completely emotionless.

Ayla's head snapped up at his news. She peered into his eyes and his expressionless face. "You!" she exclaimed.

His jaw clenched. "Yes."

"How could you, Severus?" Ayla cried, fire burning in her eyes. She was livid and distraught. The Muggle world had made her forget too many things. "You have the nerve to come into my home and demand me to help your worthless lord. What? You want to kill me now! Leave, Severus." She was shaking with anger. Weeks of sleep depravation were breaking her sanity and now, _this_. She refused to cry in front of this despicable man.

"Ayla." His knuckles were white and his lips pursed together from saying anything he would regret. He needed her help. "It was necessary."

"Yes the whole greater good theory," she mocked. "Well, I don't give a flying damn!" She threw her arms up to emphasize her point.

In a blurring moment, Snape was centimeters away from her face and his grip on her wrists was leaving bruises. "Listen to me, Ayla. Yes, I killed Dumbledore. Yes, you have every right to hate me but remember you will never hate me more than the loath I have for myself. You must make sure that the he gets it and you will make sure he destroys it."

"What?" Ayla cried; she didn't care if she drowned him with her spittle. "You think he will destroy it. Are you made? He will _never_ destroy it, Severus. He will never. He was born and raised to hail the loony bin like you. All a bunch of--"

He shook her to make her stop her rant. "You will make sure he will."

"How, Prince?" He flinched ever so slightly at her reference to his pseudonym. "Should I _imperio_ him or did you forget that I can't do that anymore?"

"You can," Snape said curtly.

She gave a cheerless laugh. "I gave everything up, Severus. Everything damn thing," she sneered, "I made sure I can't be involved and I won't be. And even if I can, what if I don't want to?" She challenged, lifting her chin up defiantly.

"Then more will die," he said quietly.

Ayla shoved him away and he let her. "Severus, what fucked-up plan is brewing in your mind? Why involved me? I just want to be left alone." She cradled her face in her hands; her hair cascaded down her shoulders and obscured her face from view. She was so tired that he almost wanted to comfort her; he squashed that thought.

"I never thought of you to be the type to be lonely," he resumed his usual nonchalant drawl.

"Shut up, Severus. You never thought much of anyone but yourself," she snapped and gave him a scathing glare. "Why me?"

"Because I trust you, Ayla." He watched the subtle changes on her face like the undercurrents beneath the calm sea.

She curved her lips up. "A first time for everything, I supposed." Silently, he watched her played with her long black hair and took out his wand. She had relented; he knew her so well. "It is goodbye again, huh?" Ayla twirled her hair around her index finger absentmindedly. "When are you going to find peace, Severus?"

He was genuinely surprised at her question. "I wouldn't know where to look."

Ayla scoffed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "No, Severus. You just hold on too tight."

"Goodnight, Ayla."

"Goodnight, Severus," she murmured.

He was already gone.

* * *

Author Notes: I have a nasty habit of posting chapters, taking them down, posting edited chapters, and taking them down. Lather, rinse, and repeat. I add stuff, delete stuff, change stuff, especially at the beginning of a new story. If it bothers anyone, drop me a line. 

Please, review. Tell me what you think.

Icy


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.

* * *

Chapter 3 

Images of Diagon Alley, red hair, and dark eyes haunted her dreams. She tried to turned away but found herself immobilize. She tried to break away desperately. She was dreaming. She must be dreaming. She thought hard and tried to pull her eyelids open.

Rough fabric scrapped against her skin. Everything was hazy as she surveyed her surroundings with groggily eyes. Hermione quickly realized that something was wrong. The bed she was sleeping on was wrong. The light was wrong. Everything was wrong. She sat up quickly and was smacked by a noxious headache.

"I see you are awake, Ms. Granger." She recognized the familiar oily voice.

The world was still spinning. Spots of pink and green marred her vision as she swerved her head toward imposing silhouette; she squinted to erase the blurry lines.

She stopped breathing. "Snape." Sudden fear drenched her body with cold sweats.

She tried to rub her temples to get rid the vicious pounding when she realized her hands were locked together. She shot her former professor a menacing glare or as menacing she could be when the world was pink and green.

He advanced toward the sofa and flicked his wand; her hands separated but she still couldn't move her legs. "Drink," he thrust a glass of suspicious looking liquid under her nostrils.

Hermione craned her head away but the headache pound against her head violently. "Why am I here?"

Snape looked at her condescendingly. "Drink," he insisted again. Exasperated at her refusal, he explained, "It will clear the headache."

She glanced at potion and was dreadfully aware the pain was beginning to worsen. She reached for potion tentatively and seeped it. She swirled her tongue and other than the resemblance to sour lemons, it seemed fine. The headache disappeared and her eyes decided to work properly now. She took in her surroundings. Snape might have touch for potion but obviously not for homemaking, she thought wryly.

"Why am I here?" she asked again, unsure how to address her former teacher. Hermione squelched those ridiculous thoughts; this man was a murderer.

"Don't flatter yourself. We had no intention of bringing you here," Snape sneered.

_We!_

Alarm went off, she looked wildly at the rather small sitting room. "Mr. Malfoy is not in the room." He watched amusingly at the way she looked like a frightened fowl unlike her usual obnoxious confidence in the classroom.

_Malfoy._

She remembered now.

She remembered her fight with Ron. She remembered browsing through books in Flourish and Blotts to flushed out her angry thoughts. She remembered the purple-faced Uncle Vernon. She remembered Ginny's trying to cheer her up. She remembered seeing a flash of platinum hair near Gringotts. She remembered Snape's billowing cloak and hushed argument. She remembered a struggle. She remembered losing her footing and hit something sharp.

Then darkness gleefully claimed her. All the images were in jumbled and vague. They made her head hurt.

Her hand flew to the forehead; she could feel a bandage.

"You hit your head."

She bit back a sarcastic remark. "What are you planning to do with me?"

"I assure you, Ms. Granger, I will think of something."

Now with the knowledge that the man in front of her was capable of murderer, she felt nauseous. He was no longer just an unjust teacher who made Potion an impossible class to enjoy. She was treading in foreign territory without her wand and no book facts were going to help her with a bloody murderer. She suppressed the run in circle like a headless chicken (she couldn't anyway since her legs were bound together) and called to her well-honed logical mind.

She was blank. Maybe it was the hit on the head, whatever it was; she hoped she could come up with a plan fast and soon.

Hermione blinked out of her reverie when the bookcase moved apart and Draco Malfoy emerged.

A million neurons were firing at the sight of her nemesis in less-than-good shape with a faint crescent scar at the corner of his eyes and his usual immaculate robes were wrinkled.

Draco Malfoy was different, her lethargic mind concluded.

* * *

He walked down the rickety stairs with a grimace. He thought of the amount of dust and spider webs that had been collecting; he could not understand how anyone could live without house elves. He twisted a knob and strode into the sitting room. He was almost joyful when he saw that Granger was finally awake; he was so tired of making healing potions and looking up obtuse information about the gauntlet. 

"Mudblood," he eased back into his usual demeanor. He almost felt alive. "Do you know that your face can stay that way?" He mocked her expression of a flopping fish.

"Shut up, you stupid ferret," she jeered at him. Draco itched to wrangle her throat just to put an end to her shrilly voice. "You can't run to daddy anymore so you run to dear old Snape. How precious." If she were a Slytherin and not insulting him, he would have been nod approvingly at her perfect sneer. But she wasn't and what she said hurt more than her puny mind could comprehend.

He pounced. Draco was so closed to her throat that she could feel the shift in the air but Snape intervened and placed a firm on his shoulder. He shrugged the hand off. "Stop this childish display. They may not be house points to deduct nor detentions to be serves, but I am sure that I can find something equally unpleasant to do."

Things nearly felt normal.

Draco seethed with anger. Draco Malfoy might be many things: a bully, a prat, a spoiled brat, but he was Malfoy through and through. He carried the Malfoy name with honor and pride no matter what happen.

One thing he learned from his family other than Dark Arts was family loyalty.

* * *

Hermione wringed her hands together nervously and sneaked at a look at Snape's exasperated look. She hoped that she showed no signs of Malfoy's insult had remotely touched. It was ludicrous that she should care for his opinion when she disliked him so intensely. Yet, it still aggravated her when Malfoy acted like he was a prince. She wanted to drag him back to ground with the rest of the people and beat him to pulp. 

"Harry and Ron will look for me!" She suddenly remembered that she would be missed, that Ginny would noticed she was not at Flourish and Blotts, that Harry and Ron would come swooping in and save like the way they saved her from the troll.

"Potter and Weasley will not be able to find you, Ms. Granger." Snape turned his attention back to his potion after Malfoy sat in the armchair, away from Hermione.

"We could _oblivate_ her and sent her back," Malfoy drawled. "She is of no use to us anyway."

Snape gave Malfoy a look silencing him. If she were back at Hogwarts, she would've whooped with joy that Malfoy was finally put into his rightful place. "Actually, Ms. Granger will be useful."

Her stomach dropped and felt like puking again, instead her stomach grumbled. She flushed and avoided Malfoy's smug look.

"Hungry, Granger?" he taunted.

"Draco, go get some bread and cheese."

"I am not a servant, Severus."

"Don't be childish," Snape snapped.

She watched that exchange with interest. Malfoy obviously did not like his former potion-professor and mentor but Snape was being tolerant despite Malfoy's bratty outburst.

Something was going on. Hermione trusted her logic more than her intuition but with her legs bound together and wand taken away from her, she could do nothing but think, speculate, observe, and store all the information in her mind.

Malfoy slammed a plate with several slices of bread and cheese on the table and stalked away.

Hermione stretched her arms to fullest extent; the food was barely out of the reach. She fumed, refused to meet the eyes of Malfoy. She swung both of her legs off the couch, righted herself, and tugged the plate toward her. Her throat burned with humiliation. The bread tasted like stone. She refused to cry and bit her tongue.

She didn't even notice when Snape sent Malfoy back to whatever he was suppose to be doing.

"Ms. Granger," Snape said softly.

She scrambled away but almost toppled over when she lost her balance swinging her legs onto the couch. Snape flicked his wand and the binding came undone. She lifted her chin and stared straight into Snape's dark eyes. She ignored the inferno of fear and put away those thoughts forcefully.

"Snape," she sneered. She was expecting a smack on the face, a curse, something cruel from him. But he did not give her the satisfaction and only looked at her like it was the first time seeing her.

"Ms. Granger," he tried again. "_Silencio_. You will listen to me whether you want to or not. I had not intention of bringing you here. You dragged yourself into this predicament when you unwittingly followed Draco into Knockturn Alley and decided injured your head. I assure you that you would've been in a worst situation if we have left you at the alley. I brought you here against my best discretion. You will help me, Ms. Granger." He flicked her wand and she could talk again.

Hermione glared hatefully into Snape's skull. "I will never help you," she spat. "I will never help Voldemort." She suddenly reminded of Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. Harry did not deserve to be betrayed by Peter Pettigrew; Hermione may be a insufferable know-it-all but she was not a traitor.

Snape flinched at the name. "Don't jump into fickle theories," he growled.

"Harry saw you kill Dumbledore." She refused to allow her voice to wavered. She reached deep for the Gryffindor's courage.

"He saw?" Snape looked thunderstruck. "How?"

"It doesn't matter. He saw you. He saw you do it! You can't deny it, Snape. You killed Dumbledore," she choked. "You killed Dumbledore and he trusted you so much. He trusted you, you bastard. No one trusted you but he did. He believed that you are worth something and you killed him."

Large drops of tears cascaded down her cheeks but Hermione paid them no mind. She was doing this for Dumbledore, doing this for her pain, doing that for all the children who might never have the chance to experience the joy she did at Hogwarts, doing this was Harry who had already lost too many people.

She never thought she had seen Snape paralyzed. It wasn't fear but self-loathing and rage that were smeared across his face. She did not care.

"I will never help you. I rather die. You… you… coward."

"I am not a coward!" he bellowed. This shook Snape out of his stupor. His face loomed over her.

She shrunk away and squeezed her eyes tight; she was waiting for the pain. She remembered Harry once saying that all he could remember was a neon green light. The pain never came, she cracked her eyes open and saw Snape stumbled into the table. He looked at her with bewilderment.

"You think I wam going to kill you," he said breathlessly. She didn't answer. She couldn't utter a word with her throat clamped tight so she bobbed her head. "You think I am going to kill you." He placed his hand on his forehead. His protuberant dark eyes made him look like a dead goldfish.

Hermione was unsure of what she was witnessing. She found this side of Snape more frightening than the Snape that resembled a resentful old bat.

"Professor Snape," she stuttered.

Snape regained his usual facial expression. His eyes shrunk back into his skull. "Ms. Granger," he said softly. It was the same careful soft voice that promised danger and consequences. "I need your help. You must help Draco find one of the Horcruxes."

She stared at Snape as he regained his sanity. Her mind whirled and tried frantically to make sense of her situation. With each passing minute, the more flummoxing she became. "What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

He quickly waved his wand; a complicated glow appeared and disappeared.

Hermione recognized it as a highly protective ward. It was suppose to prevent eavesdropper; she glanced at the bookcase. She had never seen Snape indecisive. He always executed everything with confidence from taking away house point to… killing Dumbledore. She forced herself to remember that. She forced herself to hold onto that righteous anger.

"Draco received another task." Who gave the order went unspoken. "He was to find a gauntlet. It was a relic owned by Rowena Ravenclaw. It was taken before it was hidden properly. No one knew who took it but it occurred the night after the murder at Godric's Hollow."

"It is a blind shot then," mused Hermione. The anger was slipping. She was intrigued; she silently cursed her curiosity.

"It was rumored that it was removed from the continent and hidden in America."

"America!"

"Yes, however, I can assure you that the rumor was wrong."

She scolded petulantly. Snape was not telling the whole story. "So where is it?" After she found out where the Horcrux, she would escape and tell Harry. She leaned in eagerly.

He handed her a feather. "This will help you."

Hermione stared at the feather in shock. She recognized it immediately as an eagle feather. The length, width, and shape of the feather all matched the typical eagle feather. But the texture was smoother than most and the tip was dyed red. It looked strangely like dried blood. The rest of the feather was bronze.

"How, it is just a feather?"

"That will be where Mr. Malfoy comes in," Snape said smoothly, ignoring the disappointed look on her face. "You need a book and only Mr. Malfoy knows where to find the book."

Hermione burned with anger and shame. She should have known that Snape would not tell her the location of the Horcrux. Her mind was already spinning, thinking of ways to get the book without the help of Malfoy.

"You will help him find it, Ms. Granger," He watched her carefully; she could feel his eyes contemplating each and every one of her facial expression.

She almost laughed at the absurdity. "You want me to help Malfoy find a Horcrux and bring it back to Voldemort. I will never do that. I will never betray Harry."

"Stupid Gryffindor heroic antics," Snape snarled distastefully. "I am sure Potter is already in the process so finding another Horcrux. If you find it, Ms. Granger, you can destroy it and you will help your sweet Golden Boy."

"You _want_ me to destroy it," she gasped. She couldn't hide the surprise.

He leaned in close to her face. "Draco will be trading the gauntlet for the life of his mother."

"But you _want_ me to destroy it," she sputtered.

Snape waved his wand again. The ward evaporated.

"I am sure a clever girl like you, Ms. Granger, will think of something."

Snape strolled back to his work, leaving a rather flabbergasted Hermione.

* * *

Author Notes: I apologize the slowest of the first two chapters. But this should get interesting from here on. 

Please review. I am debating on whether continue this story. Should I?

Question: Your honest opinion concerning Snape? I found him the most difficult to write. Do anyone want me to address the time between the Burrow and the capture in more details?

Icy


	4. Chapter 4

This is late. I am not giving up.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter. If I did, things would have been very different.

Chapter 4: Cogito Ergo Sum

* * *

The Weasley's household was in frenzy; there were Aurors everywhere and Ronald Weasley's face seemed to be in a permanent shade of angry pink. He was pacing the room, raving madly at anyone and everyone, and basically shouting obscenities at inanimate objects while Harry Potter sat rigidly at the dinner table with white knuckles clenching his wand and jumping at every little bumps. He rubbed his scar absentmindedly, hoping for some kind enlightening information. He received nothing but a red and sore forehead. 

"Where is she?" roared Ron for the nth times at no one particular. Everyone had given up on calming down Ron; it would be futile and only fueled his anger, like pouring oil on fire.

"She couldn't have just disappear," Ginny said softly, "Someone must have kidnapped her or something." She stole a glance at Harry and sighed; nothing and no one could comfort him.

"Voldemort," Harry growled vehemently. Everyone flinched.

"Well, Aurors didn't find her body," Fred piped in as the rare voice of reason, "So she must be alive. They've turned Diagon and Knockturn Alleys completely over."

"They are going to use her against me." Harry glared at the floor.

Ron finally grew tired of wearing hole into the ground and sat down heavily in the chair next to Harry. "If I didn't argue with her over that stupid Muggle, I would've been with her and I would've protected her."

"Ron, it's not your fault." Ginny placed her hand on his shoulder.

He jerked it away and turned furiously at his sister. "How could you have let her go to the bloody bookstore ALONE at a time like this?"

Ginny's eyes widened. "You are blaming me," she sputtered.

"You should have gone with her!" Ron jabbed his index finger at her face.

Ginny smacked it away and stood up abruptly, toppling her chair backward. "Ronald Weasley, you will not shove your stupid guilt onto me. If you learn to control your bloody temper and shut your mouth, then Hermione would've gone to the bookstore and--"

"Enough!" Mr. Weasley slammed his fist. "It is no one's fault. It is not going to do anyone good with you guys squabbling. Go to sleep."

They started to protest but Mrs. Weasley came swooping in and herded all of them to bed.

Mr. Weasley gave a huge sign and rubbed his temples.

* * *

Hermione gripped the note so hard that it crinkled and her fingers left distinct marks. She forced herself to breath again and read the note again, hoping the words would disappear. 

_I have another matter to attend to. Work together to find the gauntlet. Complete the task._

Severus Snape 

Malfoy plucked the note out of her hands. "What?"

Her brain still could not register what was going go. A billion questions flying in her mind: where did Snape go, how could she work together with Malfoy, Is Malfoy going to kill her, where is her damn wand. She was hyperventilating. Everything suddenly seemed very hazy; she hadn't eaten decent food in few days now. Hermione could not fathom how her former potion professor survived with bread, cheese, and a strange assortment of inedible meat.

"Crazy old bat," Malfoy snarled. "Work together with a mudblood. It's inconceivable!"

Malfoy's angry, arrogant voice jerked her back to reality. "Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped, "If you want to find the gauntlet, you will need me. Snape gave me something." She added smugly.

His gray eyes bulged out of the socket. "He told you."

She nodded.

In a blink, Malfoy had invaded her very precious personal bubble. His face was so close that she could smell his stale breathe (she supposed that Snape also lack hygiene products as well) and see the strange flecks of blue that bordered his iris. She bit her inner lip and glared back; she refused to be let her fear take over. If she couldn't choose flight, she might as well fight.

"Give it to me."

"What?" Her mouth flopped open.

"Give. It. To. Me." Malfoy grounded the words out into dust.

It dawned to Hermione that he was referring to the eagle feather. "No."

"You will give it to me, mudblood." His arms shot forward before she could squirm away and clamped onto her forearms hard.

She jutted her chin. "You won't be able to use it anyway, Malfoy." She squared her shoulder; she forced herself to be calm.

He shook her violently. "What do you mean?" A gray flinch of doubt and dread appeared and disappeared.

Her head shook back and forth painfully. Hermione dug her nails into her palm; she reminded herself of the Gryffindor courage. She thought of Harry and Ron and Dumbledore. "You can't use it, Malfoy," she said in her best haughty-know-it-all voice. "Ravenclaw's power follows the female line. Rowena, herself, was the seventh daughter. After her, not a single male Ravenclaw's descendent was known to exist even before their line became untraceable. You should know that." She ended with her trademark smirk or, at least, she hoped that it was her trademark-knowing smirk.

She could see the rusty gears of Malfoy's head turned. What she said was true but whether it had any connection with the journal and the quill, she had no idea. She was roughly shoved aside and tripped back onto the scrawny sofa. She could still feel his numbing grip.

"I will get the gauntlet, mudblood," his wand centered on her, "Nothing can stop me, Granger. Nothing!" He swerved and disappeared up the stairway.

As Hermione tried to calm her racing heart, she came to the startling and very unfortunate conclusion that Draco Malfoy was no longer the scrawny bully flanked by two knuckleheads. He had passed the course for verbal abuse with flying colors and advanced to physical and psychological abuse and was on the road toward being a full fledged devil's advocate. She wrapped her arms around her knees and breathed deeply.

Then she reminded herself that he was already a Death Eater; he was already a devil's advocate. But there was more to the plain malice. There were despair and hopelessness laced in his tone and words. His untidy looks and bloodshot eyes all pointed toward insanity. The more her tried to analyze Malfoy, the more afraid she felt. He was not a kid anymore and neither was she.

Her eyes burned. The world was crashing down around Hermione as she curled into a ball to muffle her whimpers and tears. There were no longer any teachers to come swooping in to the rescue; hell, even Snape was gone to Merlin-knows-where; at least, he kept Malfoy in line and did not have any apparent intention of killing her.

But, now, she was alone with Malfoy without her wand. More tears streamed down her face. She could not even cling onto the one thing that could give her security. Hermione hoped desperately that Malfoy did not have her wand. He couldn't have had it, she reasoned, Snape wouldn't do that; he must have hid her wand. She clung distraughtly to the modicum of hope and bit her bottom lips.

All of her feelings were flushed out of her body with the pints of salty tear and her rational mind began to function again. There was no use crying and she was not going let Malfoy see her crying. To show weakness now would be placing her throat at a lion's jaw. She took in a shaking breath and closed her eyes. She thought of her parents in America. She thought of beautiful Hogwarts. She thought of Sirius Black. Images jumbled in her mind, all reminding her to be strong.

She had to be. This was not a multiple-choice test; there is no choice but to be strong. When she regained her composure, she scanned her surroundings carefully and began to explore the dingy living room. She must keep her mind occupied and her alertness tuned to optimal level and resisted the urge to simply wallow in her pitiful situation with Malfoy in this scrappy prison

She strolled around the room, tracing her finger over the spine of books. The musky scent told her that most, if not all, of the books were extremely old and valuable. The soft, neat bindings showed that Snape took great care with his books. The film of tear still blurred her vision and she wiped furiously; she refused to turn into a puddle. Her finger stopped instinctively and she peered closer at gold swirls of words.

Hermione gasped and her face broke into a large grin.

She tugged the thick volume out of the shelf and placed it on the table. She traced the familiar words with her finger with a thoughtful smile.

_Hogwarts: A History_

She could've weep with giddiness at the small source of comfort but she was Hermione Granger and she was not the type to _weep_ with joy. She lifted the cover with excitement dancing on her freckles like frogs hopping on lily pads. Hermione Granger was _that_ happy— then something clattered onto the ground. She snapped her attention toward the ground.

Her wand.

Hermione's eyes bugled out. Snape hid it in her favorite book. She did not know whether to worry about that fact that Snape knew her favorite book or jump with joy that he knew. Hermione drew another conclusion: Snape was a very strange person. Her thoughts dissipated as her 15 inches of vine wood and dragon heartstring rolled innocently toward her. She brought it close to her body as if it was her baby and savored the tingles of magic charging through her veins.

She was so afraid; so afraid, that she would lose her magic. She wasn't going to let go.

* * *

He glared at the leather bound journal lying placidly on the desk. Maybe he could intimate with glare. No luck. The book sat stilled and completely devoid of any writings. 

He could report to the Dark Lord that Snape was a traitor but he had no proof and he doubted that the mudblood would come forward and testify that Snape gave her the key to open the damn book. This was his last chance before the whole line of Malfoys was tossed to the bitter wind and out of the inner circle. Zealous followers came in waves; the weak ones never stay for long. Draco Malfoy refused to be anyone's lackey. The constant fear and humiliation were things that he would not stand for.

He gripped the leather cover.

A tide of loathing electrified his veins. Loathing for Snape. Loathing for the mudblood. Loathing for Harry-fucking-Potter. Loathing for Dumbledore for his cryptic words. Loathing for his father, yes his father, for putting him in this predicament. An absolute rancor that was dark and slimy. It coated the heart like tar.

He had nothing but this passionate loathing. This desperate frenzy to survive. He would hold on for dear life because it was the only thing he could follow, one step after another after the mass of blackness that reeked of anger, abhorrence, and disgust. It was the only thing he was sure of while everything slipped through his grip and ebbed away into the distant past.

Draco Malfoy was always alone. He never had a true friend and he never wished for one. To have a friend was to show weakness in one's character. He wielded his house with a firm hand and power. He felt not qualms to use his surname to his advantage. But his name no longer held the same hypnotizing power. His father stamped and shredded every dignity of the Malfoys the moment he failed to a bunch of teenagers.

He needed to find the gauntlet. No ifs. No buts. He had no choice. He never had a choice. Images of his mother lying pale on the floor flashed before his eyes. Blood pound like a thousand drums in his head and pain hammered between his eyes. He hadn't sleep well in days. Every time he closed his eyes, something would come and haunt him. He could feel the shadows creeping in from all sides to suffocate his last breath. He could feel the blood coating his hands. Red, fresh, warm blood sank into the lines of his palms.

He dug his palms into his eyes. He knew that he was close to breakdown mentally and physically. He had never been so lost, so directionless. And now he was stuck with the fucking-know-it-all. He snatched an empty glass vial and chucked it to the wall. The tinkling of shards of glass mollified his rage but did nothing for his exhaustion.

His eyes burned with the desire to cry. He refused the urge violently and knocked the stack of books to the floor. His father was everything he wanted to be. Powerful. Everything was about power. Power was what dragged the Malfoys into this situation. Power over the fucking mudbloods. Power above the law. Power of a blood so pure, so pristine that was now tainted with disgrace.

And now, his mother was in the clutch of Dark Lord. She might have been a trophy wife but, like most mothers, she cared about him. She was not strong enough to deter his father's discipline style; she calmly accepted it as her life. When his father was locked away, she continued with a stoic face.

"Draco, we are Malfoys and we are powerful," she smoothed her robe and sat up regally, "But your father is gone and he is unlikely to come back."

"Mother," he gasped, horrified his mother's statement. She stomped out the last snuff of hope.

She turned her head toward him with icy eyes. "Draco, you will grow up whether you like it or not and you will make choices whether you like it or not." She leaned forward. Her clear azure eyes glistened and twinkled in ways that he'd never noticed before. They were filled with love and sadness, regret and hope, despair and faith. Their heartbreaking beauty paralyzed him. Something ended at that moment. Something he did not noticed until afterwards. She slid her cold, nimble fingers across his cheeks and cradled his face in her cold embrace. "Open your eyes, Draco. Open your eyes before it's too late."

He could not understand her words then. He still did not fully comprehend what his mother was trying to convey to him. But he knew without a doubt that he could only depend on himself at this point, the world is filled with unworthy people, you can only trust yourself. He was now alone without a clear direction. The path clearly paved by his father was gone, obliterated the moment his father fell from the Lord's favor.

Draco Malfoy must find his own path alone. Always alone.

And he let himself cried.

Time passed, his tears subsided. He wiped any remains of tears from his cheeks and eyes violently and took a ragged breath. He straightened his robes and combed through his white gold hair with his fingers. His smoothed the wrinkles from his robes and tug on his collar. He heaved a great sigh.

He took the journal from the desk and strolled down the stairs.

He would find the gauntlet and save his mother.

That was his only direction.

He sauntered into the room and found Granger cradling her wand.

"Granger," he sneered, "Stop wasting time." Her eyes widened in surprise and her lips formed a perfect circle. Draco scoffed at her fish-like appearance and rolled his eyes. Will this girl ever learn to stop doing that? "The feather, take it out."

Something clicked underneath the birds' nest she called hair and she snapped back, "Don't order me around, Malfoy."

He glanced at his nails. "You can't leave, Granger. You have no idea where you are so you can't even disapparate. Even you want to risk splicing yourself, this house prevents any apparition and it is heavily warded inside and out." He was enjoying her shocked silence. Foolish little girl. "There is no where you can go without my help."

"I don't need your help," she snarled.

He reigned in his petty anger. "Au contraire, unless you want to wander in this invested area, you do need my help. Also, vampires are known to roam in this area, preying on some stupid muggle," he leaned forward and she scooted back uncertainly. He grinned inwardly at his power.

"You want that gauntlet. I want that gauntlet. By no choice of ours, Snape decided to force us to work together. I don't want to spend anymore time breathing your foul air but I will get the gauntlet even if I have to force you to help me. _Accio wand_. I have the upper hand, accept it." Draco caught her wand and pocketed it. He twirled his wand expertly and settled the tip at her throat.

Granger glared at him with venom. Oh, if only looks could kill.

Always shifting, always changing, this was the way that Draco Malfoy will face the world.

* * *

Hermione mentally delivered a sharp kick for her stupidity. How could she have been so stupid to not disarm him when she had the chance? Damn it. 

She raised her chin to meet his chilling eyes. "What do you want?"

"I want your body, heart, and soul, Granger," Malfoy said scornfully, "Did you hit your head _that_ hard?"

She flushed and her cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment. "I won't help you find the gauntlet. I will never help Voldemort."

He flinched. "Don't say his name," he snarled.

His face was close to hers. She could clearly see the sparks of silver flickering in his eyes and the way he tightened his jaw line. He did not worship him. She was startled by the sudden revelation. His tone did not connote any sort of reverence yet she could not decipher the exact implication of his tone.

"Granger, are you listening?"

She snapped her attention back toward the Slytherin. "Fine, we will work together." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. She resisted the urge to clam her hands over her mouth.

Malfoy stepped back and eyed her warily.

This was a game. They were playing a power game. They both wanted the gauntlet but for different purpose and needed to work together to achieve the same goal with different intention.

A power dance. They would tiptoe around each other, lying with every word.

Fear plummeted deep into her stomach.

"Well, then we should begin."

Hermione could hear the glee and smugness oozing from his words. She suddenly felt the urge slap him silly just like third year when she could hear the crack of her palm against his cheek. Instead, "Journal," she retorted smoothly.

Malfoy took out an old, leather-bound journal from the folds of his robes. It was clearly old and enchanted. The book reeked of magic, good and dark. It reeked of power. The leather had a tint of blue and gold embroidery of a flying eagle span across the cover.

Malfoy sat down on the sofa and laid the book on his lap.

"Malfoy, how am I suppose to figure how to read it if you keep hogging it?"

"Live with it, Granger because this book will stay in my hands."

Hermione bristled. "That's completely ridiculous." If only she could get the book out of his hand and her wand, then… maybe…

"Mudblood, listen to me and listen to me well." His molten gray eyes narrowed dangerously. "You agree to this. You will help me find the gauntlet whether you like it or not. And I will not unhand this book."

She bit her tongue. She _did_ agree to this. "Fine," she snapped. She sat down heavily on the sofa and leaned close to him. She smirked grimly at the way he wanted to recoil. He asked for it. She brandished the feather from her sleeve and poised to scrawl on the blank page.

"Wait." Malfoy slammed his hand on the page. "Blood, we need blood."

"What?" Hermione quickly flinched away.

He raised an eyebrow at her reaction. "Ink won't work."

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh, something Granger doesn't know," he smirked and continued before she was done sputtering, "Family journals are a _pureblood_ tradition, so I am not at all surprise that _you_ won't know. They are family heirloom and extremely protected. Outsiders are not allowed to add memories but a rare few do allow outsiders to know the memories. Blood is required though, an oath not to use the information to harm any of the family's blood descendents. Most require more than just blood but this book has gone through some serious dis-enchantment and dis-warding."

Hermione was silent. She did not know _how _to respond. She had never experience this side of Malfoy. Sure, he was still an arrogant jackass but he sounded intelligent. She always pegged for a brainless spoiled brat who happened to take great pleasure in others' pain especially Harry's pain.

Malfoy snatched a knife off the counter and cleanly glided it at the tip of his index finger. Blood blossomed from the cut and dripped onto the page into a perfect dome. He handed the knife to her with a sneer.

She resisted the urge to recoil and stared intently at the knife. A thin film of crimson blood coated the blade stirred an unquestionable terror in her stomach. She was sinking farther. There was no return.

But having Malfoy outdo her in any way was unacceptable especially with the way he was so sure that she would be too afraid. She wiped Malfoy's blood with her robes and almost gagged at the thought of his blood on her robes. She positioned the knife over her index finger and squeezed her eyes shut and pressed down.

It was a strange sensation. The cold sharp edge just dancing on her skin then piercing her skin and her blood vessels. She opened her eyes and dripped her blood onto the page as well. She watched her blood and Malfoy's blood mingle into one crimson splotch.

She observed Malfoy from the corner of her eyes.

Malfoy turned his eyes away from the page and stared directly into hers. "Sign your name, seal the oath," he sneered, "Mudblood." He held her gaze.

She stared back and turned away his coldness. She looked at the blood. The two drops of blood were together; it was impossible to distinguish between them. She wondered for a moment, maybe Malfoy just possessed a special ability to see things like this. Then she realized she was being ridiculous. She signed her name; her hand was shaking to maintain her usual neat, slanted letters.

Suddenly, she found it difficult to breath. All the doors were slammed in her face and this is the only path. She could not stop shaking.

Malfoy plucked the feather out of hands and signed his name in loopy, extravagant letters. Hermione eagerly snatched back the quill. This was her only card.

The signatures sank into the page and disappeared. Suddenly, words in navy blue ink appeared, "Cogito Ergo Sum".

"I think, therefore I exist," Hermione whispered.

"_De Civitate Dei_ by Augustine of Hippo. Commonly, associated with Descartes. What is the point of this? We need to know where the gauntlet is hidden!"

"Think, Malfoy," she was shaking but with excitement this time. "To think and you will be."

More words appeared. _Life is uncertainties; therefore it is beautiful_.

"I am _not_ looking for a philosophical lesson," Malfoy growled at the journal. "Granger, write something."

_Where is the gauntlet?_

_Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy._ The letters were intertwined together. Hermione frowned uneasily at the journal.

_Do you know where gauntlet is?_

_Nothing to stand on; learn to fly. _Malfoy growled.

_Can you tell us?_

_To fall freely is to live freely._

One Gryffindor and one Slytherin faded away and disappeared into the pages.

The journal dropped onto the ground.

* * *

To all those who reviewed, thank you. Reviews are very warm and fuzzy. I write better when I am warm anyway.

Review.

Cliché? Original? Interesting? Like? Hate?

How is Draco in this story?


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